


First Kill

by GuileandGall



Series: Violaceous Fury [32]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Beating, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunplay, Violence, bludgeoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furia's first kill, technically her first three, rewritten from her point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfill an RP request based on Furia's First Kill from bosselimitchell. While this scene was written in the first chapter of Solitude: Before I See, it was written from Troy's point of view--of the outsider looking in. At the time of writing I had attempted to write this encounter from Furia's point of view, but had not felt it possible.

**First Kill**

Furia stopped dead in her tracks as they rounded the corner. There were three of them. _Just three_ , she chuckled to herself as her stomach tightened into a knot. _Go from an all out brawl to a threesome, huh? Only difference is,_ she told herself, _these guys are probably armed and there's no one here to call it off if it starts to go wrong._ Furia swallowed back the thought. _Can't let those kinds of ideas in. You can do this. You can handle it. Just think of it like any other fight. Find an advantage and use it_.

With a deep breath, she took it all in--the street, the three Vice Kings, the car. Every detail noticed and catalogued in a blink. "So this is the test, eh? Should be fine," she finally said. She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or Troy at that point. Either way she had an idea.

She tugged off her hoodie, pulled her hair down, ruffling it a bit, then winked at her chaperone before painting on a little smirk and heading up the block. She played it out in her head once or twice. She could see the permutations. The different ways it could happen.

The whistle broke her train of thought.

 _God, he was a big son of a bitch_ , she thought when the man on the stoop leaned toward her. "Hey, now! What have we here?"

Leering she was used to. Hell, it was the whole reason she'd stripped off that baggie hoodie and pulled her hair down. That's when one of the two on the other side of her piped up.

"I don't know, but caramel is my favorite."

 _Pinche pendejo. Caramel, huh?_ It was one of those little things that irked her. She shifted her weight slightly, her eyes narrowing as her mouth tensed a bit. "Aww," she cooed at him. "That's too bad. I prefer something a little stronger than vanilla."

The dark-skinned man on the stoop stood, towering over her. _Dios!_ Just because he was built just like Memo, thick and massive, but she refused to be intimidated. With another liquid shift of her hips, she tilted her head and looked up at him with a demure trace of a smile and no hint at all about what was coming. His smile seemed to bloom in slow motion, then came the look of shock and what she thought had to be terror when the gun shot resounded off the hard surfaces.

After that, things sped back up. They actually felt too fast. A hand on her wrist. She pulled her knee up hard. The frenzied movements of the other man. There was a bat then it was in her hands. She just swung, nothing near the form she tried to help her twin brothers master one summer. She hit him again before she turned on the white boy with a penchant for caramel.

That's when things seemed to come back to almost normal. She kicked him over onto his back and set the bat next to his face. His friend's blood stained his ear. And she could see something new in his eyes. The lecherous tint was gone, so was the glee and the hints of hurt and anger. Now he was scared of her. She was no longer a target or a commodity in his eyes. For him in that instant, she held all the power.

In that moment, in his eyes, she could see too many faces, hear too many voices that had looked at her and spoke to her just the way this quivering little worm had. She bowed toward him, leaning on the bat resting next to his face.

With more calm in her voice than she expected, she simply said, "Respect is a precious commodity." Then she took the swing.

The sight of it and the sickeningly moist note of the sound turned her knotted stomach. She let the bat fall out of her hands, the wood clattering on the concrete as she moved to reclaim the pistol he had wrenched out of her hands. Everything seemed steady until she heard the footsteps and looked up.

Bradshaw just stared at her for a moment. That was when she felt the first tremor blot through her. She glanced around her, the realization of everything that had just happened crashed back through her mind. There hadn't been much thought involved at all, mostly reaction, instinct. That was the thought that shook her the hardest. _How could that be instinct? How could that be my instincts?_


End file.
